MAPLE LEAF SOUP

I've written many stories regarding the escapades of a dog named Riley.


There's been stories of imaginary animal characters, magical, talking creatures of the air and the land and of the sea, all living in the Kingdom of Doolittle with Emeline. I used them all as metaphors to display the immeasurable kindness of humanity and the insatiable desire of the soul to do good, sometimes amongst the stranger and sometimes in heartfelt acts of love for their neighbor.

Mostly they were conversations in my head, a way to convey a message of hope and faith to those closest to me, a nod in their direction or a slight scolding as to what they were currently doing in their life at the moment.

Things that I would never say to them, but Emeline could.

All these creatures were imaginary, but some among them have become real, serving as gentle nudging of love and commitment to beings that could not live alone and ask for little to survive, and loving so much in return.

But before there was Riley, before Eleanor and her sassy sister, Simmons, and before the queen and Emeline's nemesis, Zeekee, there was someone else.

Before them all, there was Jack.

Jack was the black Labrador retriever that changed my life, even though he had passed away long before I met him.

Black Jack Riley, his full name and title, was the subject of another's writing, a loving tribute to a faithful companion who brought much joy to those around him, especially those closest to him. He was put down on a cold winter's day in an act of compassion, but breaking the hearts of those who loved him. The tale of the loss brought tears to my eyes, a shocking surprise to myself and to others who knew me.

I've pictured him in my mind as the kindly old grandfather that everyone loved, walking slowly down the gravel lane to the lake, and laying down amongst the cool rocks on the shore. I can see him in my mind's eye as he and his master strolled during their daily constitution. I can imagine the love his master washed over him as he got more crippled and infirm as the weeks wore on, finally barely able to walk at all.

But I can also picture this animal of grace as a younger, sturdier, livelier Adonis of the canine world.

Jumping high with all fours outstretched, catching biscuits thrown in mid air in his mighty jaws, what a spectacle of health and athletic exuberance he must have been! His shiny black coat glistening in the sun, zig zagging back and forth as he played fetch and tug of war with a rope.

But there must have been a playful and mischievous side to him as well. Sitting in the passenger seat of the fire truck in many a Fourth of July parade, he would reign as the king of all station dogs, proudly displaying fake antlers at Christmas or a yellow fire chief hat, loving the attention and adoration.

Jack was the kind of dog that was adored by animal lovers and even those less trusting of his ilk. Never threatening, his master would have to search house by house to call his errant son home.

"Come back and visit us again tomorrow, Jack!" they would call after him as he would traipse down their driveway and into the arms of his laughing "Dad."

As they traveled in the Autumn to their favorite haunts, there were many memories made as years went by. Not used as a hunting dog as was his nature, but a dog of inquisitive fun, he would stop at a puddle full of maple leaves and get a drink.

"I noticed he would always look up and wait for me to say what I always said," his Dad would laugh as he recalled the memory to me.

"....And he wouldn't move until I muttered the words. I swear he knew what I was saying."

"And what was that?" I would ask, even though I knew the answer, for I never tired of the telling.

The Man would smile sadly and say it once more, as if it was yesterday.

"..'Oh Boy, a big pot of Maple Leaf Soup, eh Jack?' and then I'd throw him another biscuit."

The Man would talk to him all the time, and Jack would talk back.

It was the description of the dog that drew me to the Man, to this place, to this new life that I have, living in the Kingdom of Doolittle. Never a dog lover myself, the story of Jack made such an impression on me that I knew I had to know the person who had experienced such profound love and wanted to share it with others. I began to feel that love myself, when he taught me how to talk to the animals, too.

If all dogs go to Heaven, I know that I will want to meet up with him, and share a pot of maple Leaf Soup with him. I'm sure he will let me run with him and I will ask him all kinds of questions about his life down on earth and the secret to his tenderness, the ability to change the lives of those around him.

He certainly changed mine. Surely an angel in heaven now, I'll quote my friend the Man, and say you are the "Catcher of Slow Rabbits."

The Lord sends us friends and companions when we need them most, helpers to aid our battered and withered souls when we are lonely, to make us smile when we are down and to show us love when we feel unlovable.

Gifts from above. Black Jack Riley sent me mine.